Victors Heart Chimes

Suspension of Disbelief  I brush off the grief that’s been lumbering my spirit long enough to run outside for lunch. Narrative break and narrative break— this long‑overdue gap in space wallops my brain. I arrive at my place in line. My mind teeming with what I did and didn’t do, spanning years and miles wide. I accept the minute distraction, compose my order before the proposition comes. Six‑inch BMT, and it’s back to roiling remembrance, chasing ghosts through my head. The world feels shrinking. Realities cinched I didn’t choose. A decade‑long love I’m trying to put in the rearview. Filaments behind my eyes flicker and strain, stoking fear inside. I’m going to bed and waking up somewhere that’s not my own. I’m living a life carved by loss, lighting a fire in the dark with what I’ve got. The woman ahead speaks to me. I crawl out of my head to tune in. She marks these strange times, the problems adding up, my thinness and the swirling winds that could pick me up. I’m adrift ins...

Fire on the Moor Fickle flicker of desire runs through me, turning my body electric. Static‑shocked fingers pulse—words heard and formed resound with simple eloquence, harmonious and buoyant. Fickle flicker of desire flames out, turning my blood tepid. Stillness sets in. The excitement settles, chaos quells. The body, cold and heavy, awakes from dreams in technicolor turned lurid limbo. Fickle flicker of desire, once ravenous and hot, feasted itself into collapse. Without the flame that once sustained, I roam a dark, foggy moor, seeking whence I came— this sweet, now sordid journey. I traipse without grace; heaps of slick mud clump to my heel, turning every pace into strained clomps. Fickle flicker of desire— I wade through misty dark in search of remnants of spark to once again enliven this homeward arc. Wanton wisps of shelved personae push and pull my unsteady frame into choppy motion. Oh misty moor, your strange hints and glints of displaced light make play of things nevermore...

Frankenstein Mornings Morning breaks. The rays of light jut in. Sweet, bold flavor of coffee lingers on my lips.  I set to read, parse through words, break narrative into spirit-sustenance to interrupt the dread I feel at light piercing through night’s cold uncertainty, now hollow day. Fog floats, and floaters jump, making words full of motion and haze. I focus through. Inner rich dialogues of Frankenstein’s impassioned missteps mirror my own. Self-directed, scalding igneous gestations roil and stew in my spirit, bearing contempt’s weight. Joys of daybreak— the meeting of another day with longing’s sweet anticipation, a pleasure out of reach. Early morning focused direction, absorbed into the life I’m building— purpose, passion, pursuit— splinters in the wake of nighttime fears. Ghosts still bedside upon waking seldom scatter. The day begins with fatigued eyes, mind a mess from frantic carousel spirals. Day’s call to action summons me. From a weary and dizzy spirit, I fi...

 Safety Not Guaranteed A jolting pulse rouses me from peaceful slumber. Dry, weary eyes crack open and guide me through the first waking moments. Fresh, hot morning light breaks through the window. I clear the cobwebs and fog of sleep with a few fluttering blinks. With limited success, I stumble to my feet and fumble legs into pants. A thick layer of fog still looms, stirring fears of the damaged, flickering filament behind my right eye. The day begins. The tether resumes. A tug of war unfolds between a hungry mind and a body ready to break free, while my eyes jockey to remain closed. They flip with fickle unpredictability between fuzzy and briefly focused. It’s off to work with a turn of the car key. Cue music that’s loud yet hopeful. The thump and boom enter my body, a joyful roar meant to quiet the fears rising within. Hope and grief crash into me at the same time. Away we go, safety not guaranteed. In one piece, physically, mentally, mostly, I arrive where I need to be. The ...

 I am Tiresias. Ever-changing constellation of stirring selves, positioned in part on sand and sea, while parts of me rest on the beach with a differing degree of permanency. I am Tiresias. Ever approaching their magnum opus, or at the least growing situated in a working thesis. With cut phrases and sentences stretching across the sky, I’m restringing stars as guiding lights to soften the black crash of night. The tides have turned. The sands have shifted. Time’s slow elegant brushstrokes transform into panicked spurts of energy. The game remains the same and is ever afoot. Hapless Taurus with a splinter in his eye, charged far off course, blinded by shards of prophecy, praying this odyssey home won’t grow worse. It’s in community, unity, taking opportunity, to lift each other up by what we see. Taking wisdom’s cartography and planting seeds inside of me, inside of you. When all the loss stacks up and leaves you bereft of breath, silence pressing inward, col...

  Under the Still Black Sky One last time we looked for lights in the sky.  It’s been months since I’ve seen you. Thank you for joining me tonight. Several final goodbyes broached— we’re catching up under black skies. Step by step up the path, we share stories and strife of our diverting roads to healing, the shock and numb that parting brought to life. The sky was clear and full of stars, but absent of the northern lights that once tethered us to wonder. We stood and shared on the dark hillside, punctuating pause points to take inventory of the sky and see if the lights had yet arrived. You agreed to meet if I kept things light. I wonder if you think of me, why you accepted my invite to come out under cover of night. I compartmentalize and save these things for my next moment alone. A latent sadness backdrops the conversation.  Us stargazing like days of old. Certain topics tabled, forever without reproach. Burning questions I hold still, for we are lost lovers on diverg...